Live at Heaven's Night
by xeyes
Summary: Post SH4, “Eileen’s Death”. After it’s over, two men meet in a familiar bar…and discuss wounds that may never heal. Spoilers for the games and the movie, and lots of angst. M for usual SH themes, a little strong language, and a tiny bit of suggestiveness.
1. Chapter 1

**Because sometimes, the only people who understand are those who've been there. I like writing for Henry, and for James…so it seemed a natural thing to have them meet to discuss matters of mutual interest. That conversation grew into this story. This begins immediately after the "Eileen's Death" ending of SH4. Spoilers for _everything_, including the movie. Don't own it, don't profit from it, so please don't sue.

* * *

**

"..the fifth victim, a Miss Eileen Galvin, was transported to St. Jerome's Hospital, where she died a short time later. Police say that Miss Galvin's injuries matched exactly those of the other victims…"

* * *

The room was dark and small. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of beer and sweat. 

When his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he looked around. Booths lined one wall, and a low stage took up the near half of the room. A single pole stood proudly at its front, gleaming faintly in the dim light. On his left, a bar stretched along one wall, between two neon signs. One was an outline of a woman, with the word "Paradise" above, while the other blared "Heaven's Night" in multicolored script. A strip joint, then. He hadn't been in one since college, the night of Phil's bachelor party, and the only thing he remembered about it was that the wings had been both expensive and unremarkable. Not an experience he wanted to repeat anytime soon.

There was one other person in the room. A man sat at the bar in a dark jacket and jeans, hands cupped around a beer stein. He was staring at the racks of bottles that sat in the shadows against the wall. His dark blond hair glowed pinkish in the dim red light. He looked familiar somehow.

"Hello," the man said, with a tired smile. His shoulders slumped, but his face was open and friendly.

"What the…"

The second man waved his hand over the barstools. "Please, sit down. Something to drink?"

"Thanks." The beer that was pushed in front of him was dark and rich, with a thick head. He accepted it gratefully.

"Good beer."

"Yeah, I was surprised too."

"Where...is this?"

"Don't recognize it?"

"No. Should I?"

"Never been here before?"

"No."

Maybe he'd been there before, but he was too tired to remember at the moment. He didn't remember much of anything, now that he thought about it...

An appraising glance. "No, I guess you wouldn't."

"What?"

The other man drank deeply. "He kept you in the woods, right? And in the prison. You never got near the town."

_What's going on here?_

It all came back to him then…_the radio…no...Eileen..._

_Eileen is dead._

The other man smiled weakly. "Just as well, I guess."

"How did you know about that?"

A shrug. "Don't worry about that, Henry. That's why you're here."

The thick foam sloshed onto the bar as he slammed his beer onto the aged wood.

"No," Henry growled. "Not you too. I've had enough of this bullshit. Who are you and where the hell are we?"

The blond man smiled. "I'm James Sunderland," he said, holding out his hand, "and this is a small hole in the wall – "

Henry flinched, just a little, but his hands remained on his beer.

" - called Heaven's Night. In case you hadn't guessed."

"I had, thanks. And _where_ exactly is this hole in the wall?"

"Silent Hill."

Henry frowned. James lowered the hand.

"Sunderland."

"Yeah."

"You're Frank's son?"

"Yeah."

Henry nodded. _Of course. That's why he looks familiar. But didn't he…_

James downed the last of his beer. "Refill time." His eye went to the puddle of beer around Henry's stein, and the drying wetness on the back of his hand. "Need another?"

"What the hell. Hit me."

Two full steins appeared on the counter. James took one and pushed the other toward Henry, then reached over the bar and tossed a towel to him. Henry wiped his hand and sat his half-empty beer on the towel. They sat in silence. It was so unlike what he'd been going through the last day or so…the silence was somehow more strain than the screams and howls had been.

"Going to tell me what's going on?" Henry asked.

"Yeah, I guess the ball's in my court," James said. He sat up and stretched his arms out wide, with a groan. Henry heard the joints pop and snap. "Get comfortable. When I first got here, it took about an hour to get through it all."

"I thought you might say that," Henry muttered into his beer.

"Hey, it's not all bad," James said. "Anyway, you need to be here."

"Since when is what I need your business?"

James smiled. "It is. More than you know, Henry. Who else have you got to talk to about all that crap?"

"What makes you think I want to talk about any of it?"

_Yeah, I'm being an asshole. But I just don't have the patience for this right now._

"I know you do. Tell me I'm wrong."

"No. You're right."

James stopped and regarded Henry for a moment or two. "Sorry, man," he said. "About Eileen, I mean."

Henry was silent.

"You OK?"

"Yeah," Henry said after a while. "It's been a rough few days."

"That's the truth. I know, Henry. I'll explain how I know later, but I know. That's why you're here."

"Good. I could use some explanations."

"You're not the only one to…do what you've done," James continued. "There are four of us. There were, anyway. Harry...Harry died a few years ago." His Adam's-apple bobbed up then down as he swallowed hard.

"They got him at home. After all that...after all these years...they got him in his goddamn apartment. Left him to be found by his daughter. He didn't deserve that. Nobody does, but especially not Harry. No. Not Harry." James slung more beer down his throat. "He was the one who explained it all to me. He sat where I am now, and I was in your seat...listening..." His hand gripped his beer stein, and the knuckles were white.

Henry put a hand on James' wrist. "Do me a favor and hold off on that for a while."

James smiled weakly. "Yeah. I'll get started. You're here because of that damn town. Same for me, for Harry, and for Heather. We all got pulled in, and barely came out in one piece. Many people didn't. So many."

"I know," Henry said. "Everyone's heard the stories."

"But nobody else has _seen_ them. The people who didn't get out. What happens to them if they don't make it…God…you know what I mean, more than anyone."

Henry was silent.

James took a deep breath. "There's nobody else in this world who understands," he said, leaning closer, "nobody except us. Even Douglas and Cybil didn't see it all."

"Stop. You're not making any sense. Who are all of these people? And what do they, and you, have to do with...with Walter?"

"I'll start at the beginning," James said. He straightened up and turned to face Henry. He snapped his fingers, and a shot glass appeared on the bar, half-full of what smelled like vodka.

"You're going to need that," James said. "Trust me. I did."

Henry took a swig of beer and put down his stein, not breaking eye contact. The shot glass sat untouched.

"This used to be a normal town. Ordinary, quiet, lakeside town, the sort of place you came to visit or retired to. You know. Tourist-trap gift shops, local hardware store, farmer's market, amusement park, the works. This area, where we are, was partly residential and partly commercial, while Old Silent Hill, up north on the other side of the lake, was even quieter than here. That's where the hotel and the amusement park are. Sort of place you could live a happy little quiet life in. Still is, for most people. My wife and I loved to visit here, way back when."

"Yeah. Mom drove us there a few times when I was a kid." Henry smiled. "The lake was my favorite part of town."

"Us too."

"Didn't like the amusement park as much. Hated Robbie. I was five the first time I saw him. Huge pink rabbit with a perma-grin, towering over me. Freaked me out. Never got over that."

_I'm babbling. Why am I telling this guy all of this? What's gotten into me?_

James laughed. "Same here. Dad never understood why I hated him so much. Mary got a stuffed Robbie from the gift shop in the amusement park the first time we came here. Never could look that thing in the eye."

"Eileen had one, too." _After she went to the hospital, **it** looked **me** in the eye._ _Seems right somehow._

"Then, about twenty years ago, all hell broke loose. Literally. That's when it all started."

James paused to take a swig of beer.

"When _what_ all started? The cult?"

"Hell no," James replied, wiping the foam off of his lip. "The cult's been around for a long, long time, in one form or another. What started was the fog and the evil. Harry told me. He was there. His daughter was the reason for it all. Well, kind of. _That_ started another seven years before the fog..."

Henry waited as James took another deep breath.

"See, there was this woman named Dahlia. She was part of the cult, and she wanted to bring their god to this earth. So, apparently, the way she decided to do this was to create a vessel for the god, to carry it and give birth to it. Her daughter, Alessa. She bore this girl for the express purpose of sacrificing her body and her life so that their god could be born. Jesus, what a thing to do to a kid..."

"They seem to make a habit of using kids for this crap," Henry muttered.

"Yeah," James nodded. "Alessa, Cheryl, Heather, Walter...and who knows who else. But Alessa managed to defy them for a while. She was very powerful, apparently. Could do things with her mind. Big things. I don't know exactly what, since Harry wasn't sure himself, and Heather doesn't talk about it much. I don't blame her.

"But anyway, when she was seven, she was horribly burned in a house fire. She should have died. Not only did she keep herself alive, she split her soul into two pieces..."

"Didn't know that was possible," Henry said.

"Me neither. Guess that tells you something about Alessa. But she did it, and one of those pieces ended up by the side of the road in a baby girl. Which Harry and his wife adopted and raised as their own. His wife died a few years later, but Harry brought up the girl, Cheryl, and they were happy. Things were normal for a while.

"Seven years after that, Cheryl wanted to go on vacation to Silent Hill. So Harry took her. Their Jeep crashed on the road into town, and when Harry woke up, Cheryl was gone. He headed into town to look for her. It was the wrong time of year for snow, but snow was falling, and the streets were filled with monsters. Definitely the wrong time of year for those. There's never a right time. He went through hell there, looking for her…and he learned a lot more about the town and the cult that he ever wanted to know.

"End result, Harry didn't get his daughter back. At least, not like he'd expected. Alessa and Cheryl rejoined, thanks to Dahlia's efforts to finally bring the god to earth, but Harry managed to interfere, and killed the god. He left town with a newborn baby girl and a cop, Cybil, who had been drawn into the whole mess and had helped him."

The room was silent. James sipped his beer.

"Jesus," Henry finally said. "A week ago, I'd have said that was unbelievable."

"Yeah."

"Alessa...I know that name. I found a note at the orphanage in the forest asking whether she'd been found yet..."

"That comes a lot later," James replied. "But yes, that's the same Alessa. Kind of."

"...Kind of?"

"Yeah. The story doesn't end there...not by a long shot. But that's why the town is the way it is. The evil that that woman Dahlia unleashed that day has never been eliminated. It's still here. Probably always will be. That's why I..."

"What?"

"I'll get to that later. Back to Alessa. Harry didn't have an easy time of it after that. He knew that he couldn't go to the police or his family or anybody. Nobody would believe him. They'd think he was crazy. So, it was just him, the baby, and a cult out for his blood. He took her with him and moved as far away as he could."

"What about...what's the cop's name? Cybil? Couldn't she help?"

"She did, to start with. Never told anybody about their existence, and helped him and Cheryl hide for a while. She was killed a few years later, under mysterious circumstances. Officially, it was during a drug bust, but Harry never believed that. He told me that he thought the cult did it, but there was no proof. Figured that they'd set her up. It _was_ a White Claudia bust, so who knows…I wouldn't put it past them. But we'll probably never know for sure.

"They tried to kill him and Cheryl a few years after that. Harry and Cheryl escaped by the skin of their teeth. So, they moved again, and laid low for years. Harry changed their last name to Morris, started calling her Heather, and dyed her hair blonde. She started school, and he went back to writing novels, but under his new name. They didn't have a lot of money, but things were quiet for them. He told me once how proud he was that he'd been able to give her that.

"It worked for a while, but not long enough. When Heather was seventeen, the cult managed to find her again. They did _that_ the old-fashioned way...they hired a private detective to do it. Apparently, the god wasn't dead, just slumbering...in Heather, and they decided that it was time to complete what Dahlia had started. They wanted their god.

"So one Sunday, Heather's at the mall. She's approached by this private detective, hides from him in the women's bathroom, and the next thing she knows she's fighting off undead monsters next to the food court. She had no idea what the hell was going on, just that she wanted to get out of there and get home. She fought her way across town to their apartment, and when she finally walked in the door..."

"Her father..."

"Harry was dead in his armchair in front of the TV," James said, with a shudder. "Killed by a monster created by the cult. Killed for revenge. Killed for the purpose of filling his daughter with hate to nourish the demon within her. Killed for no good reason at all.

"Well, it worked for a while. She was beside herself with fury. She went to Silent Hill with the detective, Douglas, to find and kill whoever did this to her and Harry. And she did. Damn near killed her and him, but she did it, and destroyed the god once and for all. That put an end to that. The cult hasn't been heard from since...well, except for Walter. He was a remnant of the old cult. Dahlia and the others made him what he was.

"But the town is still cursed. When the fog rolls in...people are called there..."

Henry lifted the shot glass to his eyes. The transparent liquid within reflected the dim multicolored lights and distorted the wall beyond. He sniffed at it, then tilted his head back and tossed the contents down.

"Told you you'd want that," James smiled.

"Never doubted it," Henry returned. He turned the glass upside down and placed it firmly on the counter with a _thunk_.

"Need another?"

Henry nodded. A second glass identical to the first appeared in front of him, and met the same fate.

"And I thought I had it bad," he said after a pause.

"You did, Henry," James said. "You didn't do anything to deserve that. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"No. There's more to it than that. Now that I think about it…I felt drawn to the apartment when I first saw it, like I was supposed to be there somehow. Guess now I know why."

James' eyes were wide. "Damn, Henry. I didn't know. We just thought…"

"So did I, until just now."

Henry was silent. His eyes drifted around the room. Then, he stood and strode over to the stage. He reached out to the single pole at its front, and ran his fingers up and down it. It was cold and smooth.

"Who knows how many women have danced on this," he said.

"More than any of us can count, I'm sure," James said. "Gonna give it a try?"

"No. Walter's play has ended. No more stage time for me."

He stood there for a long moment, staring into space. Then, he sat down hard on the edge of the stage. A lone poster sitting on the old boards slid to the floor beside him.

_What was that quote? "All the world's a stage…" Even Walter's. Well, the show's over. The puppet master is dead and gone. You can breathe now._

_Can I? Really?_

Something was moving in his head…it hit him that for the first time in a day, he wasn't running from Walter any more. That was really over. At least, he _knew_ that it was over. He'd seen Walter die. But he hadn't really realized it until then. So, no need to worry. Why was he feeling the tide of panic rising, then? His brain tried to step back, to analyze, to reason its way out of this.

_Is it a natural reaction to all of that? Now that I have the time? Maybe. But I don't panic. That's not me. I've never…well, not since Robbie when I was five, anyway. I Don't Panic._

_Don't panic…_

He felt himself slipping…slipping into that place that he'd fought so hard to keep out of all of the previous day. He had felt numb, emotionless, dazed, or so he'd thought. Now, he realized that of all the battles he'd endured, that had been the hardest. He just hadn't known it at the time.

_Thank God. But now…_

Henry's hands went to his head and pressed tightly to keep his skull from exploding. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.

_No. I. Will. Not. Freak. Out. Not here. Not now._

"It's OK if you do."

Henry's head shot up. James was sitting beside him on the edge of the stage, fidgeting with the bar towel.

"I know what it's like," he said softly. "To realize once it's all done that there's a future to be dealt with as well as a past. Still scares the hell out of me. But you have to deal with it sooner or later. You've been through things that would drive a lot of people over the edge for good. Hell, if you _weren't_ having problems right now, I'd be worried about you, Henry."

His eyes met Henry's, and for once Henry dropped his guard and stared into them unabashedly. Under the dark blond hair, they were a light green, like a deep and hazy pond with algae at the bottom, and seemed far too old for the still-youthful face that held them. There was something else in there, too…

_He really does know. I'm not alone. He really does know. It's OK._

The panic was washed away by a tide of relief.

_It's safe here. Completely safe. Oh Jesus…_

That was the final straw. Henry slumped backward onto the stage. He felt the weight lift just a little, and his head fell back. All of the things that he'd held back and tried to ignore and put away for later or for _never_ flowed unbidden. The blood and the cold and the

_smell GOD the smell and the taste I could taste it and feel it and HEAR them moaning and screaming and dying and I WAS KILLING THEM TOO! I HAD TO. I had to or they were going to kill me or maybe they weren't, not if Walter didn't want them to, I don't know if he did or not and I'll never know and I'm not sitting here with 21/21 sliced into my neck WHY? I should be, I should be standing at my own door whispering evil nothings into my peephole as Walter settles into his hellish womb but no, he's dead and I killed him too._

He dug his nails into his palms and clenched his jaw and closed his eyes tightly against the tide before it could overtake him. And overtake him it did.

Blessed fatigue came to his rescue after several minutes. Sweet, sweet tiredness that started in his head and numbed his brain and dripped into his limbs until they lay still and all that was left was his chest lifting and lowering slowly.

That, and the certain knowledge that this was just the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

Henry's palms stung from the marks of his fingernails digging into them, but he didn't mind…it helped bring him back to reality. He could feel James still sitting quietly next to him.

For a long minute, he lay there, as it all receded and he was left behind, empty.

"Don't tell me that I needed that," he said after a while.

"I know I did, when it was me," James replied. "It gets better."

"Yeah. But that's going to take time. Who knows how long."

"You have all the time you need now."

"Yeah."

Henry sat back up and leaned against the pole. James didn't talk, didn't pry, didn't even acknowledge his presence, just drank his beer and stared off into space. For which Henry was very grateful as he struggled to collect himself.

"Come on," James said, struggling to his feet. "I've got this round."

James plopped back down on his bar stool. Henry watched him produce two more beers just like before, then pulled himself to his feet and dropped back onto his stool. He felt physically drained, but not tired at all.

"There's something you haven't explained yet," he said.

"And what would that be?"

"Why you're here."

"It's a long story."

"Like you said, I've got time."

A second later, a second shot glass appeared, filled with a golden-brown liquid. James picked it up and bolted it down without hesitation.

"Good whisky. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. My turn to buy, anyway," Henry said with a smile.

James stared at the empty glass for a moment.

"I..."

Henry waited while James looked absently around the small bar, searching. In the dark, he could see the multicolored light of the neon signs reflected by his companion's pale eyes.

"...I'm a sinner, Mr. Townshend. We all are, one way or another. Nobody's spotless by the time they reach our age. We both know that. But what I did was unforgivable."

"It couldn't have been that bad, James," Henry said lamely.

"Oh, yes it could."

"Come on, man. You seem like a good guy. What…"

"Henry, I killed my wife."

The silence was as thick as the darkness at the back of the stage.

"So yes, it could have been that bad," James said quietly. "I killed my Mary, who I loved more than life itself. At least, I thought I did."

_So that's it._

"But...why?"

"Mary was sick, Henry. Very sick. She was dying…so slowly...wasting away. She was miserable...I told myself that she didn't want to live this way, that she wanted to die. And maybe she said it once or twice, but I knew better. The truth was, I was tired of it all. I hated her for changing, for not being the Mary I married any more, for dying on me. I was a selfish bastard back then, Henry. I was afraid to go see her. I spent as much time feeling sorry for myself as I did worrying about her." James put his elbows on the bar and ran his fingers through his hair. "I was a real sonuvabitch."

"That's understandable," Henry said. "You were under a lot of strain."

James just shook his head. "Not enough for that. She didn't deserve it. And she never deserved to die like that. One day I kissed her on the forehead, and smiled at her, and stroked her hair, and took her pillow and..."

James' gaze shifted to the neon "Paradise" sign on the wall to their left. His eyes reflected the lights back, but without life.

"I didn't remember that. I didn't remember any of it. Next thing I knew, I was in a rest stop just outside of Silent Hill, thinking that Mary had been dead for three years and that I'd just gotten a letter from her, telling me to meet her there. So, dumb delusional me heads into town, and I end up facing hordes of monsters with a two-by-four with a few nails in it while searching for my wife who I think has been dead for three years but is still sending me letters. I didn't even care if it made sense at the time, I wanted her back so much...

"The town wreaked its vengeance on me, and on other people too. I met Angela there, in the cemetery. Poor Angela…she was one fucked-up kid. I found out later that she'd been molested by her father and had killed him, and ended up there because of her guilt. Her mother told her that it was her fault. What her father did to her. Can you believe that? What kind of mother would do something like that? Of course, I can't really claim any moral high ground there… Eddie was there too. He was overweight and convinced that everybody was laughing at him. He had gone apeshit with a revolver on anybody who he thought was making fun of him. He shot a dog so that he could watch it die horribly.

"They both died there...I ended up killing Eddie, since I was next on his list. I remember so clearly, sitting there next to him in that meat locker, watching steam rise from the blood as it ran out of him, as it sank in that I had killed a human. Heh. I had no idea that it wasn't the first time...Angela gave in, ultimately. It ate her alive. I came damn near to doing the same thing.

"Maria was the worst. She looked just like Mary, but dressed differently, wore her hair differently...and was much more...provocative. She tormented me...made me want her so much -- God, in my mind it had been three years since Mary died, and longer since she'd...I wasn't thinking straight when Maria was around. She made me doubt everything.

"And then she died, and I couldn't save her. Just when I'd given up and accepted it, my total uselessness in the face of death, she was there in front of me again. She reached out and touched my face, Henry. I can still feel it after all this time. So close yet behind bars...by the time I got to her, she was dead. Again. By the time I got to the hotel, I didn't know up from down, left from right, dead from alive...I didn't care what happened to me. I just hoped that somehow, somewhere I would find Mary.

"And then I found out what really happened...and I understood. The town had called me there to punish me for what I'd done. The whole Godforsaken place was designed to torture me with hope and desire and pain. And the worst...the worst was at the end, when I thought I'd finally found her, and it was just Maria telling me that I was never going to have my Mary again..."

Henry sat silently.

"So," James said after a long pause. "Still think it can't be that bad?"

"No," Henry said. "Jesus, James, I...I'm sorry." He put his hand on James' shoulder. James smiled gratefully through his pain written on his face.

"After all this time, it still gets me like this. Part of the punishment. I'm sure it always will. But I welcome it. It's mine. It's what I deserve."

Henry shook his head. "How did you get out of there?"

"This place," James replied. "I had to kill...Maria, or she was going to kill me. That took a long time, but at the end, she lay there, strapped into her metal torture frame, calling my name...I put one last bullet into her, and the world turned white. When I woke up, I was sitting here with Harry. He explained everything…everything he could. After we were done talking, I was in the graveyard again, with Laura. Did I mention Laura? She's a little girl who Mary knew in the hospital. We got the hell out of town and never came back. At least, Laura didn't...but I come back here."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Silence.

"I don't know what to say."

"It's OK. That's what Heather said, too."

Silence, awkward and long. Henry knew that James knew what was coming, but that didn't make it any easier.

"I have some questions I have to ask. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know," James replied. He snapped his fingers, and more beer appeared, along with a large bowl of pretzels, and a small jar of brown mustard.

"First of all...uh, how did you know that I like pretzels with mustard?"

"Educated guess," James grinned.

"And how did you know...about everything?"

"That's one of the funny things about how all of this works," James said, waving his hand around the room. "We always know when someone new is coming, because we see it happen. We saw what happened to you, Henry. Everything."

"Uh...everything?"

"Yeah. Don't worry. No weirder than anything else we've seen. Who're we going to tell, anyway?"

Henry laughed. "No kidding. Damn. When I was stuck in my room for all those days, one of the few things that made it bearable was knowing that at least nobody else could see what I was up to. If they couldn't hear me screaming for help at the top of my lungs, they couldn't see me crawling around in my boxers scrounging for food under the sink."

"You didn't do anything too bad. Although the whole bottle of vodka on the third day..."

"Yeah, that was too much. And I was out of pretzels by then. My stomach let me know the next morning. The hard way. I guess you saw that too."

"Yeah," James laughed. "That's how I knew about the pretzels. If I were you, I'd have been hitting the bottle pretty heavily too by then. Had a hard time keeping out of it afterwards myself. Still am. But yeah, we saw what happened to you. For what it's worth, you did a damn fine job."

"Not good enough," Henry muttered.

"You can't do that to yourself."

Henry shook his head.

"You couldn't have helped her, you know. You did everything you could."

"It wasn't enough. That's what mattered."

"No. You're still alive and Walter's gone. _That's_ what matters."

Henry's mouth was a hard line.

"There's something else, Henry."

"…Yeah, there is."

"Nothing leaves this room, you know."

"Yeah."

Silence. Henry stared intently at his beer.

"There was always…something else going on. I didn't realize it for a while. But I could feel it. There was something in the air. Even in my apartment. In the way that he…" Henry shook his head. "Ugh. No. I can't…do this."

"It's OK. There's nothing wrong with it."

"No, I didn't mean…I mean, yeah, I know, but no, I didn't mean that. I…I didn't even realize just what it was until right before the end. He cornered me in that kids' bedroom downstairs and got way too close, right in my face, and…"

Another shot glass, full, appeared on the bar. Bolted down and upended in a flash.

"…then I knew. Just what it would mean to be his Receiver."

"But he didn't…"

"No, he didn't. Somehow, I knew that he wouldn't. That he wouldn't do anything until it suited his purposes. The way that he looked at me, and talked to me…I knew that he wouldn't have done that."

"But you still didn't want it."

Henry smiled sadly into his beer. "That's just it, James," he said. "I…I don't know if I did or not. I've never swung that way, never, but this was…different. But it wasn't even the usual thing, you know." He laughed. "Clear as mud, huh."

"Don't worry about it."

"It was weird, him and me…almost symbiotic. He couldn't complete the 21 Sacraments without me, and I couldn't get out of that hell without him. Each of us knew that the other knew that, and we ended up in this weird dance around each other. He needed me, more than he was aware of, and he didn't really understand what for…It was like he wanted someone, anyone, anyhow, and I was as close as he was going to get. He was lonely."

Henry sat quietly.

"And so was I. I hadn't felt wanted like that in forever. I guess I got it all mixed up together like he did. It shook me up pretty badly."

"Let me tell you something, Henry," James said. "When I was in Silent Hill, I saw monsters unlike those that Harry saw, and those that Heather saw. They were almost all humans, but deformed. Women, I think, but not like any I'd ever seen. Some had their heads and bodies bound up and only their legs were free. Others had no heads or bodies, just another pair of legs like mannequin parts put together. Long, slender, naked, feminine legs, everywhere around me. And I saw Pyramid Head...doing things to them."

"Things?"

"Yeah. Things. Those kinds of things. Things that I could never imagine myself doing to anybody. Freaked me out. The first time, I hid in a closet – heh, gotta love the symbolism _there_ – and shot at him until he left. And then there was Maria…"

Silence.

"You see, Henry? It had been three years since Mary had died, and months more since she'd fallen ill, and a while before that since we'd last…or at least, I thought it had. To be blunt, I hadn't in a long, long time, Henry, and somehow this place knew that. May I ask you a personal question?"

Henry shrugged. "Shoot."

"Um…how long…"

"Heh. Yeah, that's personal. A while, I'm not sure exactly. But a while. Not for lack of interest. More a lack of opportunity."

"See? That explains it, right? We're guys. Doesn't matter how self-controlled we are. We're programmed this way. And it was used against us. How are you feeling now?"

Henry felt heat in his cheeks. Well, he had had a lot to drink. Yeah. That must be it. And nothing left this room, right?

_So he says. Can you trust him?_

_If this is all a dream, then no harm done. And if it's real, then…yes, I think I can. Hell, he knows everything else already, what's this compared to that?_

"What the hell. Dammit, James, I'm..."

"Yeah. Anything that moves, yet?"

"No, not yet, but the idea seems less ridiculous than it used to."

"Good. You'll be fine." James took another slug of beer. Henry stared at him open-mouthed.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Means you're coming out of it. That isolation. The reason for it is gone."

"Yeah. And my previous dating history has been _so_ successful."

James laughed. "Henry, to be frank, you're a good-looking guy. You've got the tall-dark-handsome-mysterious thing going. You'll have no problems if you just get off your ass and get out once in a while."

Henry smiled. He realized that he was rather drunk, and he didn't really care. About much of anything. Including whether this was all getting way too personal. He rolled his eyes at James and raised an eyebrow.

"And what about you, golden boy? How have you been dealing?"

"I've been...dealing," James replied. "It's been rough. I still don't completely trust myself there. Probably never will again. But I've been seeing a wonderful woman who's far too understanding. I told her everything, and she's still there. I feel so guilty about putting her through all of this. She's far too good for me. Even helps Laura with…well, girl things, you know."

Henry nodded. "You need to stop feeling guilty. About her, anyway."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Before you screw things up with her."

"Yeah." James laughed harshly. "Once is enough for anybody. You know, I never realized how damn hard dating was before."

"Yeah. It's enough to make you want to lock your door and never go out…well, not _me_…" He raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

James guffawed at that. "Somehow, I don't think that you're ever going to use that little chain lock on your door again."

"Damn right."

"Hey, look at us. Two guys sitting at a bar getting drunk and talking about relationships and feelings. We're such girls," James grinned.

Henry laughed. "Yeah. Fine with me."

"Me too."

"God," Henry said. "I hadn't even thought about it, but who could I have talked to about all of this? Anyone who hasn't been through it would think I was batshit crazy. I'd end up in a mental ward for life."

"Harry had that problem," James said. "For a long time, before I showed up here. He had to live with it by himself. He couldn't even tell his little girl, who was the cause of it all."

"Poor bastard," Henry said.

"Yeah. I was the first person he could talk to about it. At least we all have each other now."

"Why are we here, anyway? I know the who and the what, and the where..."

"A very good question," James replied. "How did you get here?"

"Last thing I remember was…the radio was on in my room, and the news reporter was telling me about the bodies in the woods. And Eileen. I think I passed out then. Then, I was here."

James nodded. "I don't know how we get here any more than you do. I go to sleep, and sometimes I end up here. But I get the feeling that we're brought here to help each other out. If things go as they usually do, you'll be seeing the others soon enough."

"The...others?"

"Yeah."

"But...it's just me, you and Heather now, right? Harry's dead."

James studied his beer. "Like you said, you know the who, the what, the where, and now maybe the why and the how. But you don't know..."

"...the when."

James nodded.

"How old do I look, Henry?"

Henry peered.

"Maybe...a year or two older than me. Not over thirty."

"I'm twenty-nine. Here, anyway. Henry, I went to Silent Hill over ten years ago. In the real world, I'm staring forty in the face. But when I'm here, I'm the same age I was then. Same for Heather. She looks seventeen when she comes here, but in real life she's almost old enough to drink. More than that, depending how you count the years. And Harry..."

"Harry's dead."

"Yes. He's been dead for years. But when he's here, he's in his early thirties, not a speck of gray in his hair. Same guy who drove his red Jeep into Silent Hill with half of the soul of the Mother of God asleep in his passenger seat."

"Must have been tough for Heather, to see her father like that after..."

"Yeah, it was," James said. "When she first joined us, he and I decided that he wouldn't show up here for a while, to give her time to get adjusted to the whole thing. But she took it OK when he did, and now she loves spending time here with him."

_A tiny kindness, perhaps, but meaningful._

"In case you're interested, when you come back, you'll always look just as you do now, no matter what. And so will we. Even after we're all long dead."

Henry digested this for a while.

"Immortality."

"Of a sort."

"Will we ever meet...out there?"

"God, I hope not," James said, draining the last of his beer. "Don't get me wrong. You're a great guy. I deserved what I got, but you didn't, not in any way. But it would be a bad idea for us to meet outside of this place. I'm...I'm barely holding it together out there. Laura is what keeps me going. She's about to go to college, Henry," he said softly. "Full scholarship. She's brilliant. She's everything to me, all I have left. We've made it this far, I have no idea how. But...it could be very bad."

_We have to keep this here. Keep it here so that it doesn't ever get out into our real lives. _

Henry nodded. "Yeah. I can see that."

"But we do meet here. I'm not sure how it works, but I think that it's whenever we need to. When Heather needs to see her father, or when I have a...bad day, somehow we always end up here."

"Silent Hill Anonymous. We need bumper stickers."

James laughed. "Kinda. Except not anonymous."

"But still in Silent Hill."

"Yeah. I guess it will never completely let go. I don't know if this place is even really in Silent Hill any more," he said, surveying the room. "But it's here for us."

"At least it brings us together. We need that."

"Yes, we do. Next time you come here, maybe they'll be here too. You'll like them. Harry's the strong, quiet type, like an older brother. Heather's a real character. You'll get along with them just fine."

"I'm looking forward to it. So why is it only you here now?"

"We figured that I'd be the best person to explain it all to you," James replied. "It was Heather's turn, but what you've been through is more like mine than to hers, and there are some things that we thought you'd be more comfortable discussing with me."

"So…if there is another one…"

"Then you're up. Unless one of us is better suited to the task."

"Seems reasonable."

"It's worked so far. God willing, none of us will ever have to again. But it seems likely that we will."

"The cult's gone. Joseph told me, in his notes…but what was it he said? 'I'm sure the spirit of it is still alive.' As long as it's there…"

"Then this can keep happening, over and over. Damn place calls people in and turns them inside out."

"Yeah."

James drained the last of his beer. "Excuse me, but nature calls," he said, standing up. "Be right back." Henry was left alone with his thoughts.

_Whoa, Henry. James was right. This is just what you needed. You're feeling much better already. So is this all a dream? Another dream? Is it all in your head?_

_Perhaps. You'll probably never know. Not unless you run into one of them, which would be a bad idea, like James said. You could be making all of this up. You could still be lying on that floor, half-dead and out of your mind._

_Does it really matter? It's helping. Even if it's just some big complex dream, it's helping. I have to do **something**, anything to get past this. _

_It's too soon. Too fresh._

_Then, it's time to stop it in its tracks before it consumes you. It's going to take a long time. But this is helping. And if it isn't all just a dream, then you owe it to them and to the next guy to pull yourself together and get on with your life._

_I suppose. Still would be nice to know if it's real. Remember, you're the one who writes entire books in your sleep and can't remember them when you wake up. You're very good at creating universes in your REM cycles._

_Which sucks. But I have a feeling that I'm going to remember this one._

James' walk was rather unsteady as he made his way back to the bar. "Think of any more questions while I was gone?"

"No. But if I do…"

"You'll know where to find us," James said. "We're here when you need us."

"Thanks," Henry said simply.

"So, you're a photographer, right?" James said. "I never had an eye for that sort of thing. I'm a numbers kind of guy. What's it like?"

"What do you mean, what's it like?"

"Well, I guess you spend your time going to gorgeous places and taking pictures of mountains and things, right?"

Henry laughed. "I wish. I do work for local papers and magazines. Pays the bills and little else. But it does feel good to find a pleasing image where you just thought that there was an old building, that sort of thing. To make something out of nothing."

"I liked the pictures in your apartment that you took. Good stuff. There's something special there."

"Thanks. Silent Hill brought that out in them. Who knows, maybe one of these days I'll go back and shoot some more."

"Or maybe not."

"Yeah. Or maybe not."

* * *

Henry awoke to a bright fall morning and the taste of Berber carpet in his mouth. It took him a few seconds to realize where he was...flat on his stomach in front of his TV. The radio was playing some sort of generic jazz-with-lots-of-sax music. Several seconds later, he remembered why he was on the floor in his front room. He pulled himself to his feet, and yanked the nearest window open. The fresh, cool breeze swept in, and the clean air made him dizzy. He dropped into the chair by the window.

His place looked normal again. Same boring old plain-white door, with only the one chain-bolt instead of Walter's array of chains and locks and loops. The TV was silent, and the clock ticked out its regular rhythm. The furniture was all as before…except for…

He crossed the room to the cabinet by the couch. The wall behind it was smooth and unblemished. He ran his hand over it to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him, but his fingertips touched nothing but smooth wall. Startled, he turned to look down the hallway. The hall extended past where he'd smashed through the wall, and now it seemed that he had two more rooms in his apartment.

_It's all gone. It really is over._

Henry pushed the cabinet back into place and straightened the pictures on top. His own beaming face stared back at him, once from each picture.

_James is right. That **is** me. A lifetime ago. I … I'd forgotten._

A familiar sound echoed through the room, accompanied by a familiar sensation. For the first time in days, Henry was hungry. The fridge was empty of course, and he didn't have the nerve to open any of the cans on the counter, so he'd have to find something to eat.

The sound of people came through the window. People laughing, talking, yelling. The traffic sounded moderate, neither heavy nor quiet. Henry knew without looking at the clock that it was around 11:00.

_The Fuseli should be opening for lunch right around now…_

Showering for the first time in days did even more to restore Henry's spirits, and he put on his favorite shirt and jeans.

_I'm not going to feel guilty about it now. Not going to think about what might have been. Later, maybe. But not now._

As he turned to leave, something caught his eye. A book lay on the floor by his bookshelf. Funny…nothing was out of place on the shelf…

He picked up the book. It was a yellowed old hardcover novel. Inscribed inside the front cover in spiky writing was a note.

_Some light reading for you. I think you'll appreciate it more than most._

_James_

Henry closed the book and turned it to look at its spine. Red letters on black.

_The Town Awaits_

_Harry Morris_

Henry smiled to himself, and slipped the book into his pocket.


	3. Chapter 3

Henry had good days, and he had bad days. The difference between the two was ultimately very simple. A "good day" was a day in which he was able to function in a nearly normal fashion...go on an assignment, fix himself dinner when he was hungry, pay his bills, do his laundry. A "bad day"...well, a bad day was a day when he couldn't. It was, indeed, just that simple.

Today had been a bad day. One of the worst ones he'd had, actually. Henry had a full day planned...a quick morning shoot at a downtown store, then some errands in the afternoon, a quiet dinner at home, and reruns of his favorite TV show before bed. It had all begun so well... with a shower, breakfast and a bit of morning news. A nice, normal day.

Then, as he was taking his dishes to the sink, his eye caught the pictures on the cabinet by the sofa, the one he'd pushed back into place afterward. There he was, ten years ago, graduating from high school with his parents standing proudly by his side, and then as a little kid smiling happily at something off-camera.

_How much has changed since then..._

That started him on a train of thought that led him to call in sick, postpone the errands, and finish his day eating soup straight out of the can cold in his kitchen in the dark, while struggling to keep it down. Such a simple thing, now so, so difficult. But many things were now.

He went to bed with a rock in his stomach and relief that the day was finally over.

* * *

After an unknown amount of time, he found himself in that bar again. It was just as it had been before…dark, dank and seedy, which was just fine by him. It felt comforting and familiar.

_James did say that we come here when we need to, or when somebody needs us. Well, I need to be here, right?_

He plopped down at the barstool he'd used before, and conjured up a shot of whisky. It burned a comforting path down his throat. He followed it with a second.

_This is going to kill my stomach, since I haven't eaten much today..._

_Wait. This is all a dream, right? So I don't have to worry about that. Maybe. Well, I'm not going to._

As he was about to pick up the third, he heard a voice behind him.

"So…come here often?"

There was movement beside him, and the person sat down. It was a teenage girl, with short, ruffled blond hair and freckles. She wore a short skirt, a white satiny vest, and brown wellies...and a grin.

"Not too many of those, Henry," she said, motioning toward the empty shot glasses. "It's not good for you."

"Everybody seems to know what's best for me," he grumbled.

"Sorry. I know. It annoyed me, too. I'm Heather. Or Cheryl. Take your pick."

"Henry. But you already know that."

"Yeah," she said. "Welcome to our little club."

"Thanks. Lousy pickup line, by the way."

"Tell me about it. I've heard it a million times, but never had a chance to use it on somebody."

"Never had the nerve to try. Too cheesy."

Heather laughed. "So, James filled you in on how this all works?"

Henry nodded. "As much as he knew. He's not really sure, it seems."

"None of us is," Heather replied. "You kinda get used to it, though." A soda appeared on the bar, and she sipped it as she looked around. "You know, I've been here lots of times, and still this place seems pretty weird. I don't know if it's the sleaziness, or not knowing where or when the hell all of this is."

"Yeah. That bugs me too."

"Guess it doesn't matter, though," she said, putting down her soda. "Not really."

"Sorry to bring you here. At least, I think that's what happened. Had a bad day."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"In a while, maybe," he replied. "I need to get a little drunker first."

"Don't make a habit of it," she said, eyeing the shot glass warily.

"I don't touch the stuff out there, at least not more than a drink every few months or so. Don't worry. But thanks."

"Don't mention it. I see what it does to people...what it nearly did to James. I don't want you going that way too."

Henry downed the third shot of whisky, and then a fourth. He upended the glass on the bar. "There. That should do it." A beer appeared in front of him. "This will hold me."

" 'Liquor then beer, never fear', right?"

"Exactly. Learned that the hard way in college."

"Yeah. Me too."

They sat companionably side by side for a while, saying nothing, just sipping their drinks and looking at the neon lights. Henry felt the warmth of the whisky spreading through him and loosening things he hadn't known were tense. Including his tongue. Man, he'd needed that.

"I suppose I'd better get used to sitting in a strip joint talking to a complete stranger about the aftereffects of the worst day of my life, huh?" Henry mumbled.

"I'm not a stranger, you know," she replied. "Been there, kinda."

He nodded. "Sorry. It paralyzed me, Heather." The beer stein slipped a little as he put it down on the bar, and the foam sloshed but did not spill. "It froze me and made me feel really stupid. I hate that."

"What did?"

"I was doing OK up until that point. It's hard work...so hard, to open your eyes in the morning and realize that you're going to have to work like a dog for every single damn minute of the day just to keep your shit together."

"I remember. It gets better with time."

"It had better," Henry growled. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. Sounds whiny, I know."

"You don't have to say that here. Everyone's been there. We understand."

Henry nodded.

"What set it off today?"

Henry laughed harshly. "What set it off _today_. Well, a couple of days ago it was when I dropped a sock behind the dryer and couldn't get it out with the handle of the broom. I damn near broke the shelves by the washer with my fist after that. A few days before _that_, the phone rang just as I was up to my elbows washing dishes in the sink, and the dish towel fell into the dirty water. Now, there's a nice big dent in the cabinet under the sink where I jammed my toe kicking at it hard. I still haven't fixed the broken towel bar from last week. But today...today, it was the pictures."

Heather sat quietly.

"The goddamn _pictures_ on the cabinet in front of the hole where I saw Eileen watch TV and read and get ready for her party and through which I didn't see her get attacked. The pictures of me when I was little, and at my high school graduation. Pictures that remind me of things I'd rather not think about, but I can't stop myself. I wish I could."

Suddenly, he couldn't sit for a moment longer. He got to his feet and steadied himself against the bar rail.

"See, things that I thought I understood before look different. They still make sense, but in different ways. And things that I didn't understand seem like they make more sense in ways I don't want them to. It's all FUBARed. I have to dig back through all of my memories, back to the earliest ones, to try to figure out where this all began."

"It began with Walter, not with you."

"That's the problem. If it _had_ started with me, I'd understand what the hell happened better. But it didn't. _He_ started it. And he never finished it. And so I know where it ended, you see, and where it was supposed to end, but not where it all began."

Henry turned to the bar, took another gulp of beer, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He grinned at Heather.

"Makes perfect sense, right? The ramblings of a half-drunk, half-crazy man?"

"Half-drunk, perhaps," she replied, "but not half-crazy. You're doing fine. And yes, it does kind of make sense."

"Liar."

She smiled. "That obvious, huh?"

"Yeah."

"So, explain it better already so I don't have to pretend."

"Here's the ten million dollar question, Heather," Henry said. "Why _me_? I never met the guy. How did he even know I existed? _When_ did he know? When did he start working on me? Shaping me? Molding me into his perfect Receiver? It had to have started at least two years ago, if not more. I don't know if I'll ever know. And it's driving me insane."

Henry walked unsteadily toward the stage.

"The other half of the thing is…how long has this been going on?" he said to the pole. "How much of my life did Walter get his goddamn hands on? Twist around to suit his purposes? All this time…" He sat down hard on the edge of the stage.

"It was over ten years ago that Walter killed himself. I was just about to start college. Was he running things ever since, to get me into 302? Or…shit." Henry's face was white. "Did this start long before that? How far back does it go? And why me? What is it about me…" He put his face in his hands.

"It wasn't about you. It was never about you. It was about him. Believe me, you don't want it to be about you."

"Oh, I believe you. But he knew the rest of them, even for a little. I don't remember ever having met _him_. I don't get it at all."

The room was quiet for a long minute. Heather watched Henry sit motionless on the edge of the stage. Then, she took another sip of her soda, and walked over to Henry. She pushed aside a poster that lay on the stage and sat next to him.

"I don't know, Henry," she said softly. "My dad and James understand why they were pulled in, and so do I, but you…I don't know."

Henry raised his head and leaned back against the pole. "Walter had met the others before he killed them in front of me," he said slowly. "I don't know about the first ones, but he knew Cynthia and Jasper and Andrew and Richard and Eileen…in one way or another. Even Jasper…he hadn't met him, but Jasper recognized him. I never did. I mean, I'd read about the killings back when they happened, everybody did. It was all over the papers. But I didn't put two and two together until far too late…"

"James said that when he was in Silent Hill, he found an article about him in a magazine in the trash," Heather said. "He was off his rocker, Henry. Completely psycho. What sane person shoves a spoon into his jugular?"

"Yeah, I know," Henry replied. "But now…" He turned to her. "How did he know that I existed? The cult was just a rumor to me before. I never saw any of them when I went there on vacation. Not that I know of, anyway. Hell, I didn't even live there…I don't know how he would have picked me out. _When_ did he pick me out? He was younger when he died than I am now, I think…but he'd be older than me if he'd lived. I don't know. They started working on him when he was just a kid…maybe that's when he started. Maybe even before I was born. Maybe this has been going on for my whole life. Everything…

"He wanted me to see everything…is that why I love photography so much? Because he made me good at it? Gave me a good eye? Did he…make me do things and think about things in a certain way? To make me his perfect Receiver? Did he keep me alone and happy in my room for two years until he was finally ready to finish what he'd started? How much of who I am is who _I_ am and how much of me is what he made me? Now everything that I've ever thought or done or seen…everything that I remember, I have to wonder…Heather, I… I feel like the ground's gone from under my feet, like I don't know who I am."

The room swam when he lifted his head. His eyes met the hazel ones next to him.

"I sound crazy."

"Yeah." She smiled.

"I can't stop thinking about it. It's all upside down. I don't know how much of my life is my own."

"You can't think like that, Henry. It'll _make_ you crazy. You'll probably never know anyway. And it doesn't matter. What matters is now. Walter's gone, and you're you. The rest of your life _is_ yours. Be glad that you're alive."

"Yeah. But that will have to wait for a while. I can't do that. Not yet."

She stroked his hair gently. It meant more to him at that moment than he could say.

"I did too, for a while." Her eyes were distant. "I wondered just how much suffering I'd caused by being alive. I know it put Dad through hell, trying to take care of both of us while the cult was after him. He won't tell me, but I know. Because of me. People have died because I am alive. Sometimes, I wished I hadn't been born."

Henry did his best to focus in on her face. There were tears in her eyes...the pain was still fresh for her.

_Probably always will be. Makes my problems look like nothing..._

"I shouldn't complain," he said. "You've had a hell of a time."

"So have you. We all have. That's another thing that goes without saying. Like I said. We've been there. We know. Don't sweat it."

Henry nodded.

"It's been different for each of us, I guess."

"Yeah. But we can learn from each other. That's how we get past it and move on. Talking to my Dad was the biggest help for me. I feel like I understand so much more now that he told me how this all started."

"I wish I had somebody like that to tell me. But I guess after a while it won't matter as much."

"Nope. After a while it doesn't matter. And at least neither of us is James."

Henry laughed. "Amen to that."

"So, it gets better. Eventually."

He sat up and rested his arms on his knees. "You're good at this, you know."

"Good at what?"

"Talking people down."

"Thanks. I wanted to be a psychologist when I went to college. Thought it would help me figure things out."

"Didn't work out?"

She shook her head. "Nah. I've had enough of people screwing with other people's minds," she smiled. "And I don't think I'd have liked med school. Too many hospitals and doctors for me, thanks."


	4. Chapter 4

Heather was right, of course. It did get better, slowly, over time. Getting through the day was a little easier each time. Henry buried himself in his work, found new TV shows to lose himself in, and dusted off the books on his bookshelf. He scraped together the money for a computer, and taught himself how to use it and take care of it. He even went to a couple of holiday parties thrown by his co-workers, and was as astonished as anyone to find himself actually having fun there.

As the months passed, he felt more like himself again. The nightmares and terrors and fears that had plagued the early days became just a memory. He could look at his front door without seeing chains, throw his laundry in the dryer without thinking of blood spatter, get his mail from downstairs without automatically watching for skinless dogs or two-headed monster babies. He was his old self again, and things were looking up.

So why was it that today he was standing in the South Ashfield subway station staring at the forbidden third rail?

_I wonder what it would be like, to touch it. Would I die? Would I dance and jerk and sizzle like Richard did? Or would it be ZAP! Then nothing? Or would I get sliced in two by a train before I even got a chance to find out? Maybe one of the rats would get me and I'd die of plague or rabies or something before I even got to the third rail. Nah, it would take longer than that, I guess. That's silly._

_There are so many different ways this could go._

…_this?_

He was in a crowd of people all waiting for the King Street train, pressed up to the edge of the platform, with his camera bag over his shoulder and his leather portfolio in his hand. It was all very normal, but as he looked around the faces and walls swirled before his eyes. He felt dizzy, like he was being pulled downward…toward the tracks…

_It would be so very easy, like falling. Beautiful, even? Like a dance, or a dream?_

The horn of the train sounded from deep within the tunnel. He leaned forward and could see its lights getting slowly larger as the train approached.

_Like that Russian novel I read so long ago…one step into forever. So easy._

But he couldn't commit.

Then, Eileen was down there, in the dirt and filth, crawling toward him, reaching to him with her unbroken arm, calling his name, begging him to help her before the train came. And he was frozen in place, unable to move or to help her or to do anything but stare dumbly as the wheels bore down on her and she disappeared underneath…

The train whooshed by inches from his face. As he stood there, people pushed past him as they exited and boarded. "Get out of the way!" one gruff man snapped at him. Henry couldn't move, just stood fixed in place as the doors closed in front of him and the train sped away down the tunnel. He was left standing on the empty platform, dazed, wondering what had just happened.

Then he remembered. It was one year to the day that all hell had broken loose through the hole in his bathroom. A year since…

There was blood on the tracks. A rat skittered through the mess. He turned around and walked away from the edge of the platform. Up the escalator where the wall men had smacked him around. Up the stairs where the ghosts had chased them. Through the turnstile where Cynthia's gurgling spectre was still pinned to the ground for eternity, unbound hair flowing across the floor like ink. As he walked, he could see the blood in the corners, the black goo on the walls where the ghosts had emerged, the forgotten scaffolding and clumps of long black hair on the ground. Familiar cries and growls echoed down the empty passages. The throbbing worm thing thumped against the floor and roared at him as he walked down the corridor and up the stairs to the exit.

He turned and walked into the front parking lot of South Ashfield Heights. The sun was just setting, and the sky was orange and pink just as it had been after Richard had fried in his chair in 207. He pulled open the heavy doors to the building and strode across the empty entryway, ignoring the barks and howls and the blood that stained the tiled floor and pulsated on the walls. The stairs were unblocked, and his boots clanked against the chain-link floors and thumped up the wooden stairs. He saw nobody and talked to nobody.

Mercifully, his key turned in the lock on his door. He dumped his bag and portfolio on the kitchen counter, took off his shoes, and dropped his jacket on the couch. The chains stretched themselves across the door again, and as he walked down the hallway, he could hear the sobbing coming through the hole in the bathroom as it had before. He entered his bedroom, closed the door, laid down on his bed fully dressed and waited to die.

* * *

So it was with much aggravation that he found himself in Heaven's Night again.

"God DAMN it!" he screamed.

"So you're the reason I'm here," said a voice from across the room. Henry squinted into the darkness. There was someone there, all right, but he couldn't see him…

"Figured it might be you, but I couldn't be sure until somebody showed up."

The man got up from one of the booths and smiled at him. A man in a brown leather jacket, dark pants, and a T-shirt and vest. His dark hair was smoothed back from his forehead. Henry knew who he was immediately.

"Sorry," he said.

Harry sat down at the bar. "Beer?"

"Yeah."

Two beers appeared, and Henry sat down next to Harry, who looked him up and down.

"Actually, I think you need something a little stronger," he said, and the beer changed into a shot glass. Henry threw the contents down his throat.

"I think you're right. Thanks."

"I was almost expecting it to be James this time," Harry said. "Heather and I saw each other last week, so I knew it wouldn't be her. And I haven't seen James in a while."

"Does he come here a lot?"

Harry nodded. "Of the four of us, he's had the hardest time by far. Which is completely understandable. He doesn't feel that he can talk to Heather about things. He says she reminds him too much of Laura, and he doesn't want to burden her with his problems. That left me, at least until you showed up."

Henry nodded. "I don't know if he's ever going to get past it. From what I saw, he's still pretty screwed up by it."

Harry sipped his beer. "More than you know, Henry. But let's change the subject. Why are you here tonight?"

Henry explained.

"Huh," Harry said. "I don't remember having one last that long before."

"It's happened to you, too?"

"A few times. The room will turn bloody, or people will look like undead monsters. Usually, it's only for a few seconds, and then everything looks normal again. Yours was longer, though, right?"

"Yeah. I'd guess about ten minutes or so. It seemed very real, just like before."

"It was a delusion, a hallucination. Thank God."

"That's supposed to be a good thing?"

"If it had been real, the rest of us would have seen it. I know I didn't."

"So when I wake up…"

"Nothing to worry about," Harry replied. "You'll be OK."

Henry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Enjoy the book?"

"Yeah," Henry replied. "You...uh..."

"Changed a few things."

"From what I understand."

"Yeah. Had to."

"Because of Heather?"

"Because of Heather." Harry smiled absently into his beer. "And for a better story, actually."

Henry laughed. "Why a mother instead of a father?"

"I thought it worked better," Harry said. "Same reason for all the other changes. Part of it was to obscure things, and part was just for the sake of plot."

Henry smiled. "Sometimes I wish I could change things in my photos. You know, when there's a stray branch somewhere or a car parked in front of the building. But I couldn't, or it wouldn't be a true picture of whatever it is that I'm photographing, and Widmark would get pissed off." _Dammit, I'm babbling again._

Harry nodded. "And...another reason," he said after a moment.

"What would that be?"

"Something I've never told anyone else," Harry said. His eyes went to the "Paradise" sign on the wall. "Not even Heather. Not James, either. Especially not James. I couldn't tell anybody."

"But you're going to tell me."

"Yes. You'll understand. And I think you should know."

Henry nodded.

"What did James tell you about how he got here?"

Henry thought back. "He said that he'd finished dealing with Maria, on the roof of the hotel, and then he was here, talking to you."

"What did he say happened after then?"

"He left Silent Hill with Laura, and they..."

"Lived happily ever after?"

Henry laughed. "Not really. But they lived."

Harry fixed Henry with a dark brown eye.

_...oh shit. He doesn't mean..._

_Oh, Mother of God...no..._

"They...didn't..."

"She did," Harry said slowly. "Laura is doing well, actually. Like James said, she's about to go to college. Smart kid. Never going to see her here, I hope."

"But James..."

Harry shook his head. "I knew the moment that he drove into Silent Hill that something was wrong. Very wrong. I could see it in his eyes. I think he knew it too, on some level…I saw the way he ran his hand over his face in the mirror, as if he didn't believe that it was real. Did he tell you that he'd forgotten how Mary died?"

"Yeah. He didn't remember any of it."

"He was blocking it out. It was too much for him to bear. So when he finally found out the truth...it happened again."

Henry stared dumbly. "It...happened again?"

Harry sipped his beer. "After he came down from the top of the hotel. That's when he broke for good. He ended up back at his car, wandering around, completely out of his mind. I saw him. He kept repeating her name. 'Mary...Mary...Mary...'

"He stood looking over the lake for a very long time. I'll never forget the way he slumped over the railing. It was as if he had nothing left. Then he walked back over to his car and opened the trunk. She..."

Harry shook his head, and Henry swallowed hard.

"He put her into the passenger seat of the car, so gently, and placed all of his weapons, one by one, into the trunk. Then, he closed the trunk, got into the car, and kissed her on the cheek. He turned the key in the ignition, put the car into gear, and hit the gas pedal...and next thing he knew, he was here with me."

"He didn't remember that, either?" Henry asked softly.

"No. None of it. Henry, he doesn't know."

_How can you not know..._

Henry remembered something he'd read once.

"The souls of those who died suddenly by suicide or accident," he said slowly, "don't realize they're dead. I read that a long time ago, in a magazine...I don't remember much else from that article, but that really stuck with me."

Harry nodded. "I think that's what happened. He doesn't realize it. In his mind, he's out there living what remains of his life with Laura. He's only part of a man, but that's something, I suppose."

"He told me he's seeing someone, a really great woman. So that's just in his head, too…everything is." Henry thought for a minute. "He's probably better off that way. If he were more lucid, he might see just how...well, _implausible_ all of it is."

"You're right. But maybe that's another way the town is torturing him, by keeping him suffering like this. That's why I changed the end of the story, so that Rose and her daughter come back but are trapped in the fog forever. I felt somehow that I should hint to James that things weren't quite right, that maybe he hadn't really gotten out. I regretted doing that later...thank God he never picked up on it."

They sat quietly for a while.

"Funny thing is," Harry said, "the damn thing is being made into a movie."

"No kidding."

"Yeah. Who would have thought, huh? At least Heather can use the money. I'm glad I could give her that."

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

"Mind if I speak bluntly?"

"Of course not."

"You're dead," Henry said. "James is dead, and he doesn't know it. Heather's alive. How do I know that I'm not..."

"Oh, you're not," Harry said. "You'd know. James doesn't know because of how it happened and how screwed up his mind was at the time. I know, because I remember it. You'd know."

"You remember...yours?"

"Clear as day," Harry smiled ruefully.

"How did you know? If you don't mind my asking," Henry added quickly.

"Not at all. It doesn't make a lot of sense, though."

"You know that doesn't bother me any more."

"Yeah, I guess it wouldn't." Harry paused for a moment, then began.

"I was at home that day. It was a Sunday, so I was taking the day off. I'd just finished an article for a local magazine, so I treated myself to a day watching TV and doing very little. At least, that was the plan.

"Something you'll find, Henry, is that after going through what you've been through, you develop a feeling. Almost like a sixth sense. When something's wrong, or when something is about to happen, you just know. I can't explain it. You just know. So, that day, I got up, fixed us breakfast, saw Heather off to the mall, sat down in front of the TV, and realized that I was going to die before she got back. It was just like that.

"I'm a superstitious old coot. I kept my old clothes from that day in a box in the top of my closet. I was afraid to throw them out...I don't really know why. Maybe some weird fear that one of the cult members would find them in the trash and know that it was me. Or something stupid like that. I don't know. But I'd kept them, and so I put them on for the first time in seventeen years. It seemed the right thing to do. Like putting on battle armor. They still fit.

"She called me then, to tell me that she was on her way home. I don't have to tell you that I told her that I loved her. She felt bad that she'd forgotten to pick up some paper or something at the mall for me...I couldn't tell her that it didn't matter, just the usual 'Be careful' and 'I love you'. Like I said every day. What else could I say? I had no idea that...that they'd be going after her, too. I thought they just wanted me. God, what an idiot I was...

"I hadn't finished getting dressed yet. So, I went back to my room. As I put my jacket on, I looked in the mirror and saw myself. Really saw myself. The clothes looked the same, but I looked different. Older, a little thicker around the middle, a few gray hairs. That's when it hit me, Henry."

Harry took a draw from his beer.

"It hit me that I wasn't the same Harry Mason that had gotten out of Silent Hill with Cheryl and Cybil by the skin of his teeth all those years ago. I was slower, had less spring in my step. _You've gotten old_, I said to myself. There was no way that I could fight them off again this time. I hated to admit it, but I was tired of fighting…"

"But what about Heather?" Henry blurted out.

"I don't know, Henry," Harry said slowly. "I don't know why I didn't think of her. I should have tried harder so that I could be there for her, I know. The only thing I can say is that I just _knew_ that I was going to die…and maybe I wanted to keep her out of it. I don't know.

"On Heather's seventeenth birthday, after she went to bed, I stayed up late writing in an old notebook. Things I wanted to tell her, but I couldn't. Things about what really happened all those years ago, what had happened since. I knew that sooner or later, I wouldn't be around to tell her any more, and she had a right to know it from me. I just hadn't expected that it would happen so soon. Anyway, I pulled that notebook from the bottom of the drawer I'd hid it in, and sat in my chair waiting. I saw what was happening to my girl, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it…that was the worst.

"I heard him come in through the door. I heard him cross the floor, heard him even though he was silent. I could smell him. I could almost see him. And when he came up behind me, I did see him reflected in the TV screen. I smiled at him...I don't know if he saw that.

"And then it happened, and I was here again."

Harry wiped a finger through the condensation on his beer stein and held it up before his eyes. The moisture glistened for a moment before it was absorbed into his skin.

"Dying is strange, Henry. I don't know how to describe it. For me, anyway, it felt very bittersweet…I really hated to have to go, but it was also a relief in some ways. I didn't have to run any more. No more listening to every little sound in the hallway outside, reading the paper looking for signs...that was all over. And I knew that I'd still have here, afterward. It didn't occur to me until later that Heather would end up here, too…"

"What happens when you're not here?"

Harry smiled sadly. "I watch her, Henry. I watch my little girl go about her day. I keep an eye on her as she eats, goes to classes, hangs out with her friends. I do everything I can to make sure that no further harm comes her way. It's just like before…she's all I have left in the world. That hasn't changed."

Henry felt a deep sadness sweep over him.

"That reminds me, Henry," Harry said, turning to him. "How about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you have left afterwards?"

"I…"

"I'll tell you what you have," Harry said. "You have your life. You're still young, and you have your job, your health, your future ahead of you."

"So this is where you tell me that I have everything to live for, right?" Henry smiled.

"Well, yeah. But taking life by the horns can wait a while until you're feeling better."

"I didn't even know, Harry. I thought everything was back to normal."

"It's years later and I'm still getting nasty surprises like that every now and then. Just recognize them for what they are. You'll be fine."

"Thanks."

"Heh. Don't mention it. Actually, you may have the best shot of any of us at putting this all behind you. It wasn't about you."

"It wasn't about you, either."

"No," Harry replied. "Doesn't make it easy, though."


	5. Epilogue

He felt it coming before it arrived. James had been right. He knew. Even before he turned out the light that evening, Henry knew.

It had happened. Again. Before. And as soon as his eyes closed, he saw the whole thing.

* * *

The four of them were sitting in a booth in Heaven's Night, drinks in hand. 

"You all know why we're here," Harry said. "You've all seen it. It's happened to somebody else."

"A long time ago," James said. "What took him to so long to get here?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "Maybe it's the way this place works. We all know that time here runs strangely. But we all saw it. He's on his way now."

"It's your turn, isn't it, Henry?" Heather asked. She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. "You up for this one?"

Henry shrugged. "As much as I'll ever be, I guess."

Harry smiled at him. "You'll do fine. Just explain what's going on and why we're here. That's the important stuff. Let him talk if he needs to, but don't press him. You know."

Henry nodded. "Yeah. It's just hard to believe what I saw. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought…"

"No kidding," James said. "But we know that anything's possible."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then, Harry drank the last of his beer and stood up.

"Time for us to go," he said. "Good luck, Henry."

"Yeah, good luck," James chimed in.

Heather squeezed his hand. "You'll do great."

Henry smiled as the three of them exited the back door. He moved to the bar and sat down in his usual place, with his usual beer, but with a new nervousness in the pit of his stomach. Waiting…

He didn't have to wait long. The door of the little club opened, and in came a tall, narrow figure. He wore a plaid shirt, a vest and jeans, and a beat-up trucker cap. His long, thin face held a day's worth of stubble, and a lifetime's worth of fatigue. But his eyes were alert and darted warily around the room.

_Hello, new guy. _

He didn't look around for long, just strode to the end of the bar and sat down. Henry watched out of the corner of his eye as he took the place in.

"New in town?"

"Just passing through. This place any good?"

"You'll have plenty of time to find out, Travis."

The man turned to him and narrowed his eyes. "How do you know my name?"

"We can get to that later. I'm Henry." He held out his hand. Travis shook it with a firm grip.

"Henry, huh? Where's the bartender, anyway?"

"There isn't one," Henry said, sipping his beer.

"So where did that come from?" A finger waggled at the beer stein. Henry nodded, and an identical stein appeared in front of his companion, who looked from the beer to Henry, and then back again.

"Did you do that?"

"Wouldn't want you going thirsty."

"I'm not. But I would like to know what the hell is going on here."

_Wouldn't we all…_

"It's a long story," Henry replied. "It's weird."

"No shit."

"No, not that. It just occurred to me. You were there for the start, and I was there for the end, and still _I'm_ the one explaining it all to _you_."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Have some beer. Like I said, it's a long story."

Travis bent to sniff the beer, then lifted it and looked at it in the meager light. Henry smiled.

"It's good. Trust me."

Another narrow look. Then, he took a sip, then a deep gulp.

"Yeah. It is."

"And there's more where that came from."

"What I want now is answers, Henry."

"Get comfortable, and I'll see what I can do."


End file.
